Of Love and Lattes
by Margaret-Malfoy
Summary: Clint Barton is a college student with a crush on the owner of his favorite coffee shop-Phil Coulson. When Clint gets put on academic suspension, he has to find a job and an apartment, plus deal with all the shenanigans being thrown at him.
1. Chapter 1

Clint aimed his arrow at the small red circle in the center of the paper target, vaguely aware of Darcy's eyes on him from behind the protective glass of the shooting range. He released the bow string, letting his arrow fly forward, striking the target dead center with a satisfying _thud_. He felt the reverberations through his muscles that were long-accustomed to the feeling, relaxing them as he lowered his weapon. He grinned to himself for a moment before setting the bow on its rack, rolling his shoulder smoothly out of sheer habit. He made his way out of the shooting booth and smirked at Darcy who was inevitably texting, her hair shielding her face from view as she pored over her phone. "You're going to kick so much ass at the competition next weekend!" She exclaimed without looking up, fingers still gliding across her phone keyboard.

"How would you know, you weren't even looking!" Clint said jokingly in response, nudging his friend's shoulder with his hip.

"Shut up, I was watching, _and_ I know for a fact that no one else is as awesome at archery as you." She slid her phone shut abruptly, shoving it into her pocket. "So. Coffee?"

"Is the sky blue?"

"Well, today it's pretty gray. Might rain, actually."

Clint gave his friend a look, undoing his arm braces and pulling his hoodie over his shoulders. "You know what I mean."

* * *

The coffeeshop the two frequented was only a couple blocks from the campus, tucked away in a grouping of small shops that kept it hidden from the hipster eyes of 80% of the college population. It was small but had its regulars who kept it in business. During the colder months, there was a hum from the heater that was only slightly overpowered by the sound of music emanating from small speakers mounted in the corners. Clint and Darcy had their usual table in one of the corners that had the perfect view of both the door and the counter where they were safe from cold winds blowing in outside..

"You're never going to get anywhere if you don't actually try talking to him." Darcy's mouth moved without ever even looking up from her French homework, a knowing smirk adorning her lips.

Clint glared at her, though it lacked conviction, and continued working out the math homework that was spread across the table in front of him. "I'm not going to risk making things awkward, Darcy. We come here too often and I don't know what I would do if we had to find another coffee shop."

Darcy took a sip of her chocolate banana smoothie and smirked, glancing over at the counter where the coffee shop owner, Phil Coulson, was taking orders and smiling amiably at customers. "Honestly, Clint, I don't know why you're making a big fuss over this. You just have to start up a conversation. Ask him how his day is going. There's nothing wrong with talking to him."

Clint just shook his head, circling one of the answers on his page. He wouldn't risk his trips to the coffee shop for anything. While it was true that he was head-over-heels for the owner, he also loved the atmosphere of the shop. It felt like home. He loved walking in and being immediately hit with the scent of freshly-ground coffee and scones that came out of the oven that morning. He wasn't going to destroy the atmosphere just because he wanted a bit of attention.

Darcy wrote something down on her French worksheet, shaking her head. This was a battle that she fought often.

It was also a battle that she _lost_ often.

Clint glanced up at the counter, watching as Coulson interacted with a customer, the older man's lips curling into a slight smile. It was weird, he surmised, still looking across the room bustling with coffeeshop patrons; Phil Coulson wasn't what would fit in any of his preconceived categories. He had once had a 'type'-the kind of guy who was tall with sculpted abs and whose image littered most pages of the magazines he'd bought online as a curious teenager. Phil was far different, but not in a bad way. His nice shirts and slacks, covered by the typical coffeeshop apron, suited him. He was stunning in a quiet way, and Clint definitely appreciated it.

"Hello? Earth to Clint!"

Clint snapped his attention back to Darcy whose hand was practically flailing in front of his face, a sheepish look passing over his face. "Yeah?"

"I was just saying, you space-case, that you should inadvertently invite your favorite coffee shop owner to your archery tournament."

"And how exactly would I go about doing that?" Clint asked with a raised eyebrow, twirling his pen around his finger. "Subliminal messaging?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I was thinking." Darcy responded, her voice dripping with sickly-sweet sarcasm. "No, stupid. You ask him if you can put flyers for it on the counter. He'll inevitably be a little bit curious about it, so you'll tell him a few of the specifics and perhaps throw in that he's welcome to come, as friends of competitors get free admittance. Then, once he sees what a capable and amazing archer you are, he'll fall in love with you and you'll live happily ever after." The brunette smiled brightly, tapping her pencil on the table to a rhythm that was inside her head.

"That's all well and good, Darcy," Clint began, preparing to list all the reason his friend's brilliant plan wasn't so brilliant. He found it increasingly difficult, however, because it was actually a pretty solid plan when he thought about it. "But you're already my +1, so he wouldn't be able to get in free. And no one wants to go to a sports event where they have to pay to see someone they don't even know."

"Clint, he can be your +1, okay? I don't mind paying for my own entrance."

Clint shook his head again, heart already pounding at the thought of having Phil watching him do what he loved. "I don't want to make you do that just because he may or may not show up to it."

Darcy pursed her lips, a scheme already forming behind her eyes as she set her pink binder on the table. "Be a dear and hand me some of the flyers out of your backpack."

"Why?"

"Just hand them over!"

Clint, with a suspicious look, grabbed his bag from where it sat at his feet and rummaged around until he pulled out a stack of mildly-wrinkled papers. He shoved it across the table, trying to figure out what the woman was planning. "What are you up to?"

"You'll see!" Darcy said in a sing-song voice, pulling her +1 pass out of her own backpack. It was a simple piece of laminated paper attached to a lanyard with the words_ guest of: Clint Barton_ scribed across the center.

Stack of papers in hand, Darcy approached the order counter while there was a slight lull in customers, her brightest smile on her face. "Hi there! There's an archery competition this weekend and I was wondering if we could leave some flyers on your counter? If you feel so inclined to allow us to do so, we can get you in free. Or you can just come anyway. If you want."

Coulson smiled warmly, nodding. "Of course! You and your friend are two of my best customers."

Darcy's smile, if possible, became even brighter. "Awesome! Thank you so much. Um, here's the pass you need to show if you want to get in free. Those have all the information on them. So...yeah."She trailed off, almost awkwardly, sliding the flyers over the counter.

"I'll try my best to come, thank you. So your friend is...Clint?" Darcy nodded. "And you are?

"Oh, my name is Darcy Lewis."

"Well, Darcy Lewis, thank Clint for inviting me. You two are here often enough to keep me in business, so it's about time I learned your names."

Darcy smiled one last time before practically skipping back to the table, giving Clint the most mischievous smirk she could muster. The archer, on the other hand, looked about ready to bolt any second. "What did he say?" he asked almost immediately, glancing nervously over to the counter.

"Relax, Mr. Teenaged girl. I just told him that in exchange for letting us put flyers on his counter, we'd give him a free guest pass to the tournament. Simple as that."

"And what did _he_ say? Is he going to show up?"

"He said he'd try his very best for his two best customers. And he knows your name now! Isn't that adorable?"

Clint tried to fight off the small smile that slowly grew across his lips, but it was proving difficult. "You're kidding, right?" he asked, trying to ignore the rush that went through his body at the thought of having Coulson sitting in the audience.

"Nope, I am 100% telling the truth. So you owe big time, you got that?"

Clint smirked again, biting his lip as he resisted the urge to steal another furtive glance towards the counter. "Cool. So what do you want me to do this time? Fake boyfriend again? Because let me tell you, that almost got me killed the last time. You should have just told him you were a lesbian or something. I'm not paying your seemingly infinite number of parking tickets, either."

"I don't know yet, moron. That's the whole point of owing someone a favor."

"I'll have you know that now," he said, changing the topic, "I'm going to be nervous, which will cause me to fuck up and lose the entire competition. And then, tragically, I'll never be able to show my face in this coffee shop ever again."

"Clint." Darcy stared across the table incredulously. "You are one of the greatest archers I have ever met, and even if you screw up, you're going to be better than everyone else there and Phil Coulson is going to be ridiculously impressed."

"Sure, whatever you say."

"Do you want me to go over there right now and tell him that he can't go? Will that make you feel better? Because I'll do it if I have to."

"No, I..." Clint shook his head, fidgeting with the edge of his paper, "look, I appreciate it, I really do, but I'm not going to kid myself. He probably has a wife, you know? And I'm just a sophomore in college. It's never going to work out, and I know that I shouldn't get my hopes up."

Darcy smiled sympathetically, hand reaching out to capture Clint's in hers. "Don't sell yourself short, okay?"

* * *

He'd been telling himself to work harder in his classes. He knew—_knew_—what was at risk, but he listened to the voice in his head that told him it was still okay to act the way he did in high school. Despite telling himself over and over and over again, the paper in his hands still came as a horrible, bitter surprise:

_CLINT BARTON,_

_ WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR PERFORMANCE AT OUR SCHOOL HAS FALLEN BELOW THAT SET BY OUR STANDARDS. AS A RESULT, YOU ARE BEING PLACED ON ACADEMIC SUSPENSION FOR THE SPRING TERM. WE APOLOGIZE FOR ANY MONETARY AND/OR SCHOLARSHIP-RELATED INCONVENIENCES THIS MA__Y __CAUSE. PLEASE VACATE YOUR DORM AS SOON AS POSSIBLE AND COMPLETE ANY UNFINISHED COURSES AS NEEDED._

_ THANK YOU,_

_ DEAN OF STUDENTS_

The severity of the situation hadn't quite hit him yet, but Clint knew the impact wasn't far off. He had two weeks left of the fall semester, which meant he had a miniscule two weeks to find a job and move into new accommodations, lest he be forcefully removed from his current ones. He took a calming breath as he neatly re-folded the letter, slipping it gently back into its envelope as though it wasn't the object of his doom. The envelope was then shoved into his bag, sandwiched between a sports magazine and a textbook where it could stay until Clint was ready to think about it. After all, he had a whole two weeks to put it off.

With a mournful sigh, he heaved his backpack onto his back and made his way to the campus courtyard to wait for Darcy to get out of class. There was a harsh chill in the air, as was the norm for the end of November, and he couldn't quite tell if his hands were shaking due to the cold or the bad news. He managed to keep his mind on other things—like the darkening sky, the students skating across campus, and the hem of his sleeve—until Darcy's class ended. The brunette bounded over to the bench where Clint was sitting, too hyper and happy to just be leaving class. However, as Clint recalled, it was the class she had with a fellow named Fandral who had caught her eye. No wonder she was in a good mood. "Ready for coffee?" She asked.

Clint nodded, standing up with a weak smile. They began walking, their strides matching perfectly, and Darcy let out a jubilant sigh. "So, he sat by me today. And I know that's not even a big deal, but he's the only person in that class who I actually like, and his writing is _divine. _Remember when I told you that the only reason I didn't drop that class was that everyone else in there made me feel pretty good about my own writing? Well, he's officially the second reason. Oh my god, he's just so adorable. Do you think he'd come to the archery tourney if I asked him? I probably shouldn't, though, just to be safe."

Darcy continued to ramble during the few minutes it took for them to walk to the coffee shop, but as soon as they were seated at the table, she gave Clint an analyzing look. "Alright, who died?" she asked, her voice filled with just as much irritation as it was sympathy.

"No one died, Darcy." Clint said stubbornly. So much for ignoring the problem until it became a pressing matter.

Darcy unwrapped her scarf and set it on top of her backpack by her feet, raising an eyebrow. "I know something's up dude. Spill."

Clint hesitated for a moment before speaking, glancing down at his backpack before reaching into it and pulling out the dreaded envelope. "I, uh, I've been put on academic suspension." he said, sliding it across the table.

Darcy's jaw practically dropped, shock masking her face before she managed to control it. "What?"

"Yeah. I just got that today."

"Shit, that sucks. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not really, I don't think." the archer leaned back in his chair running a hand through his hair. "But, I mean, if you see any help wanted ads or cheap apartments, that would be pretty great."

"Aw man, they're kicking you out of the dorms, aren't they? They're such assholes, dude. There are still two weeks left; you have time to bring your grades up."

"I don't think it will matter much. Even if I manage to get the credits, they aren't going to let me do anything next semester."

"Completely unfair."

"Tell me about it."

Darcy pursed her lips, the gears obviously turning in her head. "You know, you could always apply for a job _here_. That help wanted sign has been there for a while, and the only two people I ever see working here are Coulson and that red-head. I think you'd have a fair chance of getting hired."

"As nice as that would be, I don't know the first thing about coffee."

"First of all, it's an option. Secondly, you can learn. You're smart."

"Yeah, tell that to the school." Clint sighed, but he couldn't deny that working at the coffee shop was an incredibly tempting thought. "Fine. I'm going to order our drinks. I may or may not return with a job application."

He stood up, pushing in his chair before approaching the counter.

"Afternoon." Coulson said with a warm smile. "Clint, right? The usual drinks?"

"Yeah." The younger man hesitated for a short moment, debating with himself. "And, uh, can I get a job application, too? If you're still hiring, that is."

Phil looked briefly surprised before pulling a sheet of paper from under the counter. "Sure thing!"

"Thanks." Clint said, feeling a sense of accomplishment. He'd already achieved more in the first day since knowing about his academic suspension than he thought he would in the first week. He pulled his walled out of his back pocket and handed over the $4.50 that he needed for the drinks.

"I'll have that right out for you."

Clint smiled before retreating back to the table, eyes already looking over the paper he just got.

"Oh, what have we here?" Darcy asked with a knowing glance.

"My defeat." Clint said sarcastically, grabbing a pen out of his bag.

"Is this really the worst job you can think of having?" The brunette asked seriously, accusation in her voice.

"No. Yes?" Clint shrugged, trying to pinpoint his exact feelings amongst the chaos of his mind. "Okay, overall, it's not bad. But the thought of being around him on a daily basis is daunting. What if I make a fool of myself or find out that he's not as great a man as I think he is?"

"We all make mistakes Clint. And even if he isn't exactly what he seems on the surface, at least it'll be easier for you to get over the whole thing."

Clint sighed, eyes downcast so he didn't have to face Darcy's sympathetic gaze. "I know, I'm sorry. I just feel like a total fuck-up right now and I'm really not in the mindset to be a responsible adult."

"I know, honey. But sometimes you don't have a choice but to do things you don't want to. And I'm going to be here for you if you need me. If you ever need to mooch off a meal, I'm sure Jane wouldn't mind if you ate with us one night."

Clint cracked a slight smiled and leaned further back in his chair. "Thanks. I might have to take you up on that."

"You need to get a job first, so hurry up and fill that application out before the position is filled. I can only help you get so far."

Clint rolled his eyes before reluctantly grabbing a pen from his backpack and leaning forward to look at the paper. It was pretty straightforward—mostly just a few bits of personal information—and he was finished before he knew it. There wasn't even a backside.

"One chocolate banana smoothie and a double expresso with a shot of vanilla." Coulson said, setting the drinks on the table.

"Uh, here's this." Clint said, trying not to sound too awkward as he held up his job application.

The older man scanned over it quickly before nodding. "When can you start?"

"What?" the archer asked incredulously. "That's it? Job hunting isn't supposed to be this easy!"

"Would you rather me run a background check and make you do a drug test?" Coulson asked with an amused smirk.

"No, but... I was just expecting to have to jump through more hoops."

"Look, you would normally have to," Coulson explained with a glance back at the counter to make sure that he wasn't ignoring any customers, "but my previous job taught me how to read people. I may not know you all that well, but I know you aren't a serial killer or a heroin addict and you have a good personality. That's better than half the job applications I've ever received. So, if you're fine with that, I'll ask again; when can you start?"

Clint took a moment to be surprised before quickly running through his schedule in his head. "Well, um, I have two weeks until the end of the semester. I have classes on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, but besides that, I really have nothing better to do with my time." _Except mope around and whine about the fact that the school was full of douchbags. _Of course, Clint decided not to add that part, lest he be cast in the role of an immature teenager. Which he wasn't, thank you very much. He was twenty years old—an incredibly responsible adult, if he did say so himself.

He tapped his fingers against the cardboard cup grip as Coulson pulled a smartphone out of his pocket and tapped the screen a few times. "So since tomorrow's Friday, when could you come in?"

"I have two classes tomorrow from 9:45 to 2:12, but the rest of my day should be free. Well, except archery practice, but I can do that in the morning."

"Not that he even needs to." Darcy added in quietly.

"I can schedule you for, say, 3:30, then? It's the slowest part of the day so we'll be able to show you the ropes. From there, we can work out a more concrete schedule. Sound good?"

"Sounds good." Clint replied, trying to act cool, calm, and collected.

"Great, I'll see you tomorrow!" The older man said with a nod, slipping his phone back into his pocket before making his way back to the counter.

"See, look how easy that was!" Darcy grinned triumphantly and Clint rolled his eyes. He looked far calmer than he actually was, but there was a hint of adrenaline flowing through his veins.

"Okay, so I have a job now. That's great, but as it is, I don't have money for an apartment. I'm still pretty much fucked."

"Hey, you'll have the prize money from the competition!"

"That's not a sure thing, Darc. Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'don't count your chickens before they hatch'?"

"You're smart, Clint, just chill out. You'll figure everything out and it will be _fine_."

Clint wasn't so sure, but he nodded anyway.

* * *

According to a Google search, there were only 10 apartments within 30 miles that Clint could potentially afford on his paycheck, if he happened to make minimum wage. Unfortunately, all of them sucked and all of them were too far to walk to work. With a frustrated sigh, the archer opened a new tab and brought up Craigslist—he'd hoped to avoid it, but he would have to apartment share. Which would mean dealing with potential creeps and crack dealers, but he had no other option.

It took him half an hour of deliberation to finally pick up his phone and call the number attached to one of the better looking deals. It looked too good to be true, which is why he was so skeptical. The apartment was in a higher-end complex within three blocks of the coffeeshop with a minimum of $200 a month. Clint wasn't expecting anything, because something _had_ to be wrong with it, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to call. The phone rang twice before someone answered. "Hello?"

"Hi, I saw your ad on craigslist about the apartment and was wondering if you could tell me more about it."

"Well, what do you want to know?" The voice was quiet and gentle, but held a hint of cold hostility.

"What's wrong with it?"

There was a sharp laugh from the other end and Clint briefly wondered if he'd been too blunt. "There's nothing wrong with it. Actually, it's one of the best places to live."

"Okay, let me rephrase my question, then," Clint said, wondering to himself what he was getting into, "Why is rent so cheap if it's in such a high-end neighborhood?"

"It's a bit complicated. Normally, rent would be incredibly high. My father owns the entire condominium complex, however, so obviously I get a discount."

"Wait, it's a _condo_?"

"One of the best, if I do say so myself. There are two bedrooms, and if I don't get a roommate, my brother will move in with me. Hence the advertisement."

"So let me see if I have this correctly; you're asking $200 in rent for a condo that would normally be ten times that. Because you don't want your brother to move in."

"Essentially."

"Right. Okay."

"If you're interested in taking a look, I'm free for the rest of the afternoon."

Clint hesitated, but there didn't seem to be anything horribly wrong, and if he could meet the man who owned it he could probably determine if he was some sort of shifty character. "Yeah, okay. Uh, I could be there in twenty minutes."

"I'll be here. Tell the doorman that you're here for Loki and then press the penthouse button in the elevator."

Clint felt a bit overwhelmed, but hung up the phone anyway and set out to see the condo that was way out of his league and that he still believed was too good to be true.

**Author's note: Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it, I'l try my best to update this in a reasonable amount of time c:**


	2. Chapter 2

As the door to the penthouse condo swung open, Clint was pretty sure the man standing in front of him was some sort of model. Or, at least, could be one if he wanted to. (Modeling would at least explain the condo that he could afford to rent out for $200 a month.) The man was tall and pale with a smooth grace that Clint thought belonged solely to the royal family and famous dancers. It was almost unnerving, but the archer cleared his throat as the man in front of him stared expectantly. "Hi, I'm Clint. We spoke on the phone." he managed to say. He wasn't intimidated, thank you very much. He was just...taken off guard.

"Yes, of course, I'm Loki, come in." Loki motioned for Clint to enter and shut the door behind them. "Do you have any specific questions about the place? I'll answer whatever I can." He leaned against the back of the couch, pushing his hair out of his face and achieving the tousled look that takes hours to perfect for most.

"Look, I'm not going to lie, Loki. I would feel horrible paying $200 a month for a place like this." Shaking his head, Clint's eyes dashed around the living room as he tried to take it all in. An enormous flatscreen TV sat in the center of the wall to one side, shelves of DVDs on either side of it. In front of the set up were two loveseats sitting across from each other, coffee table situated between them. As far as first impressions went...well, Clint felt out of his league. He had been out of his league when he walked through the lobby doors.

"How do you even know I'd let you stay?" Loki asked with a hint of sass, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't know anything about you. You could be a serial killer, for all I know." There was a silence as Clint blinked a few times and Loki slowly uncrossed his arms, standing straight. "Do you want a cup of coffee?"

"Sure."

"The kitchen is through here." Loki turned and rounded the corner, leading Clint over to the counter where a stainless steel coffeemaker sat. "To be _quite_ honest, I'm not very picky about who I'm going to live with." he said after a moment's hesitation, "You already seem better than the other guy who came to check the place out—the guy was addicted to something, let me tell you—and you're certainly better than my brother."

"Not that it's any of my business, but what's the deal with your brother anyway? I don't want to pry or anything, but it seems to me that you're making kind of a big deal just to keep him out."

"You're _right_, it's none of your business." Loki said shortly, bristling and turning his back to Clint as he grabbed two cups from the cupboard. After a few seconds during which Clint couldn't see his face, he seemed to deflate, letting out a frustrated sigh. "My brother's moving into town for a year, and to say I'm not fond of him would be an undertstatement, if you must know. I want nothing to do with him. I've already told him that I have a roommate, so I guess you could say I dug myself into a hole."

A semi-awkward silence hung over the two as Loki focused on making the coffee, face remaining completely neutral. Clint honestly couldn't tell if he'd offended him or not, so he shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced around the kitchen which was, unsurprisingly, in perfect shape.

"Can I see the rest?" Breaking the silence, he took the cup of coffee that was being held out to him (not as good as Phil's, of course) as his eyes swept around the kitchen one last time.

"Certainly." Loki said, placing his cup on the counter. Clint, not one to let good coffee go cold, kept his in his hands as he followed the taller man back into the living room and down an adjacent hallway. "This door leads to my room, which would be strictly off-limits. I, of course, would extend to you the same courtesy should you choose to stay. Each of the rooms comes with their own en-suite bathroom, so a problem with sharing facilities wouldn't be a problem. This room," he opened the only door to the left, "is the room I'm renting out. The furniture in here would remain in here, though you could feel free to replace things if you felt so inclined. I don't give a shit if you use pushpins in the wall but substantial holes will not be tolerated. The staircase," he motioned into the hallway, "leads to a second den that's in the process of being painted, otherwise I would show you."

"So, $200 a month?" Clint asked, taking it all in as best he could. The place was fucking nice, and it was really too good an opportunity to pass up. Loki nodded. He didn't seem like the weirdo type but it was hard to tell. There was something closed off about him; as though there was a sheet of bullet-proof glass between him and the rest of the world. He spoke as though he were from a different universe and the archer couldn't get over the chill he felt in his presence. "Are you _sure_?"

"If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't advertise it on the internet."

Clint bit his lip, deliberating with himself for the briefest of moments, and set his coffee cup on the desk to his right, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. "I can only give you a $50 down payment. If you'd have me me as a roommate, that is." The archer raised an eyebrow in question, pausing his actions.

"You'll have to do." Loki smiled slightly—the first Clint had seen, which made him think that if he'd offended Loki, it hadn't been so bad—and led him back to the kitchen, grabbing a folder off the island in the center. "I just need you to sign here and here. This makes you liable for damage inflicted upon the premises by you or your associates and this is essentially an agreement that $200 is your monthly rent. Simple stuff."

"Cool." Clint took the pen and signed where he was directed to, laying two twenties and a ten beside the folder. "I guess that's that."

"I need to give the contract to my father to approve, but you can probably move in within a couple days. Monday at the latest."

"Your father owns this complex, yeah?"

Loki raised an eyebrow as he tucked the folder underneath his arm, glancing down at his watch. "My father owns most of the buildings within a two mile radius. I'm going to assume you've heard of Asgard & Co?"

Clint couldn't help his look of surprise. "They're like, the biggest corporation in this part of the country. Don't tell me your father owns it."

Loki simply nodded. "Don't let it throw you off. If I had a choice, I'd have nothing to do with my family at all."

"Good to know." The archer glanced down at his phone to check the time, not wanting to pry yet again. He got the feeling that family was a touchy subject for Loki, so he figured he'd be better off to avoid the topic entirely. "I have an archery tournament on Saturday, so I may not be around then to take any calls, but if you can't reach me you can just leave a message and I'll get back to you."

"That sounds good. I need to leave to take this form to my father in a few minutes in order to catch him before he leaves the office, but if you would be so kind as to give me your number, I'll put you in my phone."

Clint recited his number, watching as Loki's long fingers moved quickly across the screen of his iPhone. Everything about him screamed "rich kid" and while the archer still felt very much outclassed, Loki didn't seem like the type to care much either way. He seemed to be a people person, but the type of 'people person' who didn't enjoy being one.

Loki almost-smiled once again, extending his hand to Clint. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, I'll call you as soon as this is processed or if anything comes up."

"Thank you. It was nice meeting you."

Clint normally wouldn't have acted so impulsive (okay, maybe he acted impulsively more often than not) but didn't want to stop to think about it and have the opportunity ripped out from under him. And hey, starting early was far more productive than waiting around for two weeks until finding an apartment became his first priority. Job and home secured, he felt pretty damn good about himself. Plus, as an added bonus, Darcy would be so jealous! It was just a win-win situation.

You know, of course, besides the whole "academic suspension" bit.

* * *

Clint knocked on the door of Darcy and Jane's apartment, feeling the late November chill in his bones. He really needed to get a car, he mused, if only to stay out of the cold during the winter months. He had no problem walking everywhere in the summer, but things became substantially less comfortable once October hit. From there, November became even more of a pain in the ass and in December he even resorted to taking _public transportation_. Jane opened the door, a bright smile on her face. "Hey, Clint! How are you doing?"

"I'm good. You look happy."

Jane smiled almost sheepishly, shrugging slightly as she ushered the archer into the small living area. "Hey, we were just going to go shopping and get some vodka and raspberry cider so we can have a celebration. You wanna come?"

Jane was the only one out of the three actually old enough to purchase alcohol, so if she was offering Clint wasn't going to turn it down. "Sure. What's the occasion?"

"My boyfriend is coming into town and he's staying for a while this time."

From what Clint knew, Jane's boyfriend traveled around a lot for his job, which apparently made him quite a lot of money. He only knew what he'd heard from Darcy, however, and Jane's two great loves were her boyfriend and astronomy—not necessarily in that order. "Looks like we both have something to celebrate, then."

"Oh my gosh Clint, do tell!" Darcy exclaimed as she emerged from her room, pulling her coat over her shoulders.

"If you guys had plans, I don't want to barge in."

"You're not barging in, Clint, the more the merrier!" Darcy grabbed him by the elbow, smiling brightly. "And besides, I'm curious to hear your good news!"

"Well, I got an apartment. Kinda." The archer explained as he was ushered into the hallway to allow Jane to lock the door.

"Wow, a job and an apartment all in one day? I'm proud of you! I'll have to get you a house-warming gift."

"I think the booze will be quite enough, thanks."

Jane, thank god, actually owned a car so the trip to the store was at least toasty, with the heater cranked to full-blast. "So where is this apartment of yours, Clint?" Darcy asked, adjusting one of the heater vents so that it was pointed towards the back seat.

Clint barely suppressed a grin as he shrugged, though he was in the back seat and the motion most likely went unnoticed. "I could point it out if you wanted to take a slight detour." He met Jane's eyes through the rearview mirror, inquiring look gracing his face, and she simply smiled.

"I see no problem with a slight detour. Unless the detour takes us through a shifty neighborhood, in which case I'm gonna have to pass."

"Here, take a turn up here," Clint pointed to the street to their right. "Don't worry, no shifty neighborhoods involved. Come _on_, I have some sort of dignity and class left." Two stop signs later, he pointed to the street to the left, "Now just go down this one aaaaand there you have it."

The condo complex was just as impressive at night as it was during the daytime, tall and shining, looming over the nearby trees. "No fucking way." Darcy said as they slowed down. "Do you have a job selling kidneys on the black market that you haven't told me about or something?"

"You've got to be kidding, right Clint? The only people who can afford this place are...well, the banker and lawyer type. Oh my _god_ Clint, you didn't get yourself a sugar daddy, did you?." Jane actually turned to face the backseat, scandalous grin on her face.

"What? _No_!" Clint exclaimed, affronted. "Just for that, I'm not telling you. It'll remain a secret forever. What a shame. You'll just have to take your curiosity with you to the grave."

"Ugh, you're no fun at all!" Darcy whined, sticking her tongue out.

"Anyway, I believe I was promised alcohol?" Clint couldn't help but smile in amusement at the simultaneous frustrated huffs from the front seat. Jane shifted into first gear, eyes going to the rearview mirror, before doing a u-turn.

* * *

Clint was unaccustomed to hangovers. Hell, he could count on one hand the number of times he'd actually been drunk, but a glass of Jim Beam whiskey was nothing compared to half (though it may have been a bit more, he'd lost track) a bottle of Svedka vodka. As he woke up the next morning—miraculously in his own dorm room—he slowly came to the conclusion that he was, in fact, in hell.

Reaching an arm haphazardly off the bed, he felt around on the floor, fingers grazing a shoe and his jeans before finally locating his cell phone. The screen lit up, 10:14 AM shining brightly at the top of the screen, sending his stomach churning and making Clint want to crawl into a hole and die. A dark hole, preferably, because light was too much for him. His first class was already in full swing, but he was almost grateful that he'd slept late, because it gave him an excuse not to go at all. Which, of course, he'd probably come to regret later, but he wouldn't get much done with a hangover anyway. Dragging his ass across campus presented an entirely different problem, and just the thought of it made the archer cringe. He took a huge breath, trying to stave off the waves of nausea that seemed to be getting worse every with every passing second.

He groaned, attempting to sit up but only ending up curled more tightly around himself, arms and legs tangled in the blanket, attempting to breathe past the pain. His head felt like it was about to explode—or implode, he wasn't quite sure which—which at least prevented him from thinking about the waves of nausea he was experiencing, if only slightly. Everything seemed to hurt, and he'd be tempted to go back to sleep if he wasn't already so awake and miserable.

There was a gentle knock on the door before his roommate peeked his head in. "I thought you might need these." He said quietly, holding out a bottle of water and two aspirin.

"You don't know how much I love you, Bruce." Clint muttered, eying the bottle and smiling gratefully. "What am I going to do without you?" he asked, managing to sit up enough to accept the water and painkillers.

Bruce smiled in return, shrugging. "Suffer the consequences of your own stupid decisions, I suppose."

"Touché."

"Anyway, I'm heading to the lab. Don't let your hangover kill you."

"Oh ha-fucking-_ha_." Clint muttered, though his tone lacked conviction. The way he felt, it seemed entirely possible that the hangover _could_ be the death of him. "Have fun with your science shit, bro."

Bruce laughed before closing the door quietly behind him as he left. He really was a good guy, even though he had some breathtaking anger issues, and being his roommate for a year and a half had been nice. Even if he had to pitch in on the few occasions when a fist had gone through something important that needed to be paid for.

Clint took a few sips of water in hopes of settling his stomach, followed by a few gulps when he realized how thirsty he actually was. The water didn't really help the taste that lingered in his mouth, but it was cold and helped him clear his head. So much for morning archery practice, he thought wistfully. He rubbed his eyes for a few moments before begrudgingly throwing his legs out of bed, forcing himself to get up. Stumbling, he managed to reach the bathroom without too much hassle, vomiting into the toilet miserably. Even if he skipped classes for the day, there was no way he was going to call in sick on his first day of work. Come fires, floods, or alien attacks, he was _going_ to be at the coffeeshop on time and there was nothing that anything could do to stop him.

Not even a stupid hangover. He had two options: feel better or suck it up.

One long, hot shower later, he was feeling significantly better and far less hellish. He dressed, running a towel quickly through his hair before venturing into the dorm's tiny living area to see what he could scrounge out of the mini-fridge for breakfast. There wasn't much—typical—but his hands found Bruce's leftovers from a local restaurant and an energy drink. He knew that he'd probably end up regretting it because he still felt a bit woozy, but he hadn't eaten before his alcoholic escapade and he was _fucking starving_. There would be some who'd probably think him insane for eating his roommate's leftovers, but Clint was convinced that Banner had a soft spot for him. No matter how many times he ate Bruce's food or forgot to record _Dark Matters_, the guy would just forgive him, no argument necessary.

Well, except that one time when Clint had eaten what he'd assumed was leftovers but was actually some experiment. Bruce assured him that nothing would happen, but he would still occasionally ask, "S_o, has your tongue felt weird at all? Maybe your ears?_"

Clint would miss having Bruce as a roommate. They weren't best friends or anything, but living with each other was just simple, and the archer seriously doubted that life with Loki would be anything even resembling _simple_. The guy was charging him _$200_ for rent to keep his brother out, for god's sake. He really wasn't sure what to expect.

* * *

Clint walked into the coffeshop at 2:59 on the dot with a poker face that could fool anyone. Tendrils of a headache still remained and his stomach turned every so often (especially at the thought of alcohol), but the 'shop's warmth at least helped to take the edge off the pain. Coulson glanced up from a drink he was making, smiling when he saw the archer. "Punctuality. Keep that up, and you may even beat out Nat for employee of the month."

Just then, the doors to the back swung open and the red-head emerged with a box in her arms. "Phil, you know that what I lack in timeliness I make up for in charm." she heaved the box which was filled with various coffee machine parts onto the counter before extending a hand to Clint. "The name's Natasha."

"Clint."

"It's nice to finally meet you." Natasha smiled, glancing over at Coulson as he sent her a look that Clint couldn't decipher. "I heard that we were getting a new guy. It's been a while since we've had any fresh faces. The last new guy we had had a bit of an accident." She eyed the box on the counter, glancing over at the coffee machine before looking back to Clint who surely had a surprised look. Natasha laughed, punching him lightly on the shoulder. "I'm just kidding, don't look so serious. The last new guy we had moved to California, no bodily harm involved."

Clint was given an apron and a name tag and his work day began. It was weird and slightly disorienting to be on the other side of the counter, for once. It made him feel empowered in a way that only new employment can.

"I'll take this one; pay attention." Natasha said as a woman walked in. "How may I help you, ma'am?" she said cheerily.

"One chai tea latte and one decaf." The woman said absently, pulling her card out of her wallet. Natasha added up the total on the cash register and turned to make the woman's drinks as the woman scanned her card.

They switched off for a while, Clint taking every other customer after either Natasha or Phil had taught him how to do something. It really wasn't as hard as he'd anticipated, even if he nearly dropped a cup of hot chocolate when he'd accidentally brushed Phil's hand with his own. This apparently didn't go unnoticed by Natasha.

It was 7:21, thirty-nine minutes away from the end of his shift when she brought it up. The two of them were in the back doing some inventory and Clint couldn't have possibly predicted the attack. "So, how long have you had the hots for the boss?" She asked nonchalantly without even sparing the archer a glance.

"What?" He asked after a pause, hoping that she hadn't actually asked what he thought he'd heard.

"He hasn't noticed, don't worry." Natasha assured, marking something off on her clipboard. "And _I'm_ simply far too observant for my own good. Anyway, let me ask you another question; did you apply for this job _just_ to get near Coulson?"

"I applied because it was convenient." Clint said seriously, still trying to deal with being thrown through a loop so quickly. "The fact that Coulson owns the place is just an added bonus."

"Just checking." Natasha smiled to the side where Clint was giving her a perplexed look. "He's a good guy, it's understandable."

Twenty-four minutes later, Clint heaved a sigh, cupping his hands beneath the faucet of the bathroom sink and tossing cool water onto his face. "Alcohol is shit, man." he said to his reflection, accusatory tone in his voice. He ran his teeth over his bottom lip, nearly cringing from the sharp pain of too-chapped lips. Svedka may have sounded like a good idea for the first twenty minutes but that attitude changed once the bottle was empty. He didn't remember much except misery and more misery, but he felt as though someone pistol whipped him in the forehead and couldn't quite recall how it had occurred. It was a miracle that he even made it back to his own dorm in one piece. He turned the faucet off and flipped the light switch as he stepped out of the bathroom. The closed sign was already up and Natasha was going over the floor with a mop, the chairs stacked on the tables in what seemed to the archer to be a haphazard way.  
"You did well on your first day," Coulson said as he wiped the counter down, "you've passed the trial run, officially." the older man smiled kindly before handing Clint a bottle of water from the cooler. "Just do yourself a favor and get drunk when you have a day off." He seemed more amused than anything, though his words were obviously reprimanding.  
Clint smirked sheepishly as he uncapped the bottle, a flutter in his chest at the thought that Coulson had actually paid enough attention to him to see through the archer's poker face. "I don't think that will be a problem. I'm probably just going to swear off alcohol forever. I don't really see the appeal of spending half the night on my friend's bathroom floor." he let out a breathy laugh, holding the water bottle against his forehead as he remembered who he was talking to. "Consider that lesson learned."  
"That's what they all say." Natasha said as she moved around the counter to stand next to Coulson. "You're young, there's still time to change your mind."

"Yeah, I highly doubt that my mind will be changed any time soon." Clint replied skeptically, uncapping the bottle and taking a few large gulps. He didn't bother pointing out to Natasha that they were probably around the same age. He felt his phone begin to vibrate, re-capping his water bottle quickly to pull it out, first thought going to to Loki calling with news about the condo. "Hello?"

"Clint, it's Jane."

"Hey, Jane, what's up?" Clint asked, taken a bit off-guard. Jane never called him.

"Uh, Darcy's asking for you. We're at the hospital." Her voice sounded tired and Clint could hear the bustle of a waiting room in the background.

The archer nearly dropped his phone because _why the fuck was his best friend at the hospital_, but remained as calm as he could. "What happened?"

"She got her appendix out." Jane explained. "I would have called you sooner, but," she let out a breathy laugh that didn't hold much humor, "I'm sure you can imagine why I didn't."

"Yeah, no, it's fine, Jane. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thank you, Clint."

With that, the call was disconnected and Clint dropped his phone back into his pocket with a slightly shaky hand. "Hey, what's up?" Natasha asked, her face a mask of concern.

"Apparently, my friend—Darcy," he added, directing the comment towards Phil because he knew her, at least somewhat, "just got her appendix out. She's at the hospital."

"Is she going to be alright?"

"Jane didn't say; just said she was asking for me. So, uh, can I take off work early?" Clint asked with a breathy, humorless laugh after glancing down at his watch. A whole fifteen minutes early.

"Of course, Clint." Phil said, hanging the towel he'd been using to wipe down the counter over a hook behind him.

"And, uh, hate to ask this, but can one of you give me a ride? I don't have a car."

Phil nodded, smiling reassuringly as he took his barista smock off and moved around the counter. "Yeah. Natasha, could you close up for me?"

Natasha nodded, sending a sympathetic look in Clint's direction before Coulson led the archer out the back door and into the too-small parking lot. Were he not so anxiety-ridden about the whole situation, Clint probably would have felt pretty ecstatic to be getting a ride from Phil, but all he felt was gratitude. "Thank you." He said seriously.

Phil pressed the button on his car key and the lights of a fancy car that Clint wouldn't be able to name off the top of his head flashed, illuminating their faces more brightly for a few seconds. "There's no need to thank me." the older man said with a kind smile.

The drive was short and mostly quiet, with Clint looking out the window every so often in an attempt to calm the nervous flutter in his stomach. When they finally arrived at the hospital, Phil followed Clint inside even though it was unnecessary for him to do so and they found Jane sitting beside Darcy's bed.

"Clint!" The brunette exclaimed when she saw her friend. "Clint, you'll never guess what happened to me!"

"I just can't think of a single thing." Clint replied, feeling more at ease because Darcy was obviously okay, if a little drugged up. "I'm going to go out on a limb and guess...the worst hangover ever."

Jane rolled her eyes in exasperation. "That's what she was complaining about all fucking day. I thought she was just being over-dramatic. As it turns out, her appendix just chose a really shitty time to explode."

"Oh my _god_, Clint," Darcy chimed in, finally noticing that Coulson was standing just behind her friend, "oh my god, are you two?"

"Jane, what do they have her on?" Clint tried to ignore the way his voice squeaked at the end of his question, because Darcy was drugged out of her mind and could quite possibly destroy his friendship with Coulson before it even began.

"They didn't say."

"Clint, are you doing okay?" Darcy continued. "Are you doing okay? Did that alcohol kill you? Because I think it might have killed me."

Clint didn't get a chance to answer because a man approached Coulson and they shook hands. "I wasn't expecting to see you here, Agent Coulson." he said, and Clint got the feeling that the guy could kick his ass.

"Director Fury, I could say the same to you," Phil responded, glancing over at Clint before returning his attention to the man whose name was apparently Fury.

Which Clint found rather ridiculous.

"Sitwell's getting patched up from one of his last jobs. Friends of yours?" Fury turned his attention to the archer and Clint couldn't help but feel a bit intimidated because h_oly shit the guy had an eyepatch. _

"Clint's an employee, actually. I gave him a ride over here." Fury looked over at Darcy. "Appendicitis."

"Hey, can I get some purple Gatorade?" Darcy asked before anyone could say anything else.

"Darc, I already told you that they only have yellow and red." Jane replied with a hand on her friend's arm.

"I want purple!" Darcy responded. "Jane, please?"

"I can't do anything." Jane tried again. "Do you want red?"

Darcy pouted, shaking her head. "Purple."

"Hey, what's your name?" Fury asked, stepping closer to the bed.

"Darcy."

"I'll get you some purple Gatorade Darcy, just give me a few minutes." Fury pulled a phone out of his coat pocket and dialed a number. Clint simply stared on, not entirely sure what was happening. "Blake, I need you to come to the hospital and I need you to bring a bottle of purple Gatorade...Oh, I'm sorry, have you forgotten about the Circus Incident?...I don't care if aliens are tearing apart New York right now, Blake, you get your ass down here. Or are you afraid of a little bit of snow?" Fury's tone was mocking, and Clint decided that he never wanted to get on the man's bad side, and that it probably wouldn't be a good idea to ask what the 'Circus Incident' was.

A 'little bit of snow' actually turned out to be a blizzard of epic proportions, but fifteen minutes later a man in a suit came running into the room with a bottle of purple Gatorade clutched in his hand. "Here you are, sir."

"Thank you, Blake." Fury said, managing not to sound very grateful at all. "One bottle of Gatorade for the lovely Darcy."

"Thank you, scary man." Darcy replied, taking the beverage as though it was the Holy Grail.

"Blake what are you still doing here?" Fury asked, deciding not to question being called 'scary man'.

"The roads are closed, sir. I barely made it here. I can't go anywhere until the storm lets up." The man said, and Clint had to admit that he felt kind of sorry for the guy.

However, the matter at hand was the fact that they were all stuck in a hospital together for god-knows-how-long. "Well. I guess I'll see if I can find some chairs anywhere." he said with the best smile he could manage.


End file.
